> , 'H ' '\ 




S e n o r i t a 



(Felicidad Adrillano, a Filipino schoolgirl.) 



3ln Slotus ICanb 



or 



Slnuabl^ ICtf^ in tlf^ ©rt^nt 



A Holum? of Po^ma 



Ig 









r 



)'\ 



A- 



wo yopkii tiociiiveu 
DEC 27 J9U4 

OuiSS ^ XXc. No; :' 
I to V7V9 
I COPY B. 



Copyright 1 9 i 
Bjj EURETTA A. HOYLES 



^mli Nitra^ at Bmx ICazaro l^oBpUal, 
iHauila, f . 3. 



Greetings, 

The Southern Cross, ^ 

The Thomas, '^ 

The Flying-Fish, 8 

Legend of the Flying-Fish, 9 

An Ocean Revery, 1^ 

A Day Lost at Sea, 11 

Fuji Yama, 1^ 

Great Buddha, 1^ 

Easter In The Orient, 14 

The Hospital, 15 
Jusi, 



16 



The Banana Leaf, 1'^ 

The Cocoa Palm, 18 

Bells On a Tree, 19 

The Mango Tree, 20 

Senorita, 21 

The Ylang-Ylang, 22 

A Dream of Willows, 23 

The Bamboo, 24 

Legend of the Bamboo. 25 

When the Bamboo Blossomed, 26 

The Tamarind Tree, ' 27 

Cavite By Moonlight, 28 

The Carabao, 29 

The Festal Spread, 30 

Benguet, 31 

The Philippines, 32 



31 n C n t u s IG a u b 



Philippines, heroic scenes 

Stand in thy history's pages, 
And Heaven itself above thee leans 

To watch thy work of ages, 
Magellan, helmsman, sailor bold, 

Legaspi, wise and daring. 
With brave Rizal, to envy sold, 

This hour with you are sharing. 
Greetings receive! Your dream believe! 

Work out your loved ideal, 
The fleeting wish in deeds achieve 

And make your longings real. 
Your mines and woods, your fields and seas, 

Are wealth beyond all rating 
And all the power that comes from these, 

For you is only waiting. 



3u IGotus Hau^ 



Low in an arc of the tropic sky, 

Shineth the Southern Cross, 
Faintly, but purely, it gleams on high, 

On humanity's triumph and loss. 

Pointers it has, like the polar sign; 

They point to a larger cross. 
Brighter and higher and in the same line. 

But luring the eye with dross. 

Each night the false cross is unfurled 

And the true one follows it. 
As if to say — "Take heed, world. 

False guides, though bright, do not 
permit. ' ' 

Cross, what tragedies hast thou seen. 
While shining the centuries through. 

What strife and despair, with hope between. 
While the nations groped for the true! 

And ever thou didst hold the light 

Of thy holy sign on high. 
And pointed the feet of men aright, 

To the life that will not die. 

Art satisfied with the ages' work? 

Canst see men looking to thee ? 
Shine on, Cross, till no dark, deeds lurk, 

In a world the Christ-life makes free. 



31 tt 1C n t u fi C a tt b 



In the blue sea of space above 

Sails the golden ship of a star, 
W ith an inner fire and a trail of cloud 

And a life that pulses and bears it afar, 
Straight on and on to the harbor bar. 

Below the star, on the blue of the wave. 
Sails a ship that is westward borne, 

Steady and sure as the stars it sails, 

With a heart of fire and a flag untorn. 

West and a-west, by gales unshorn. 

For a soul awake and alert is its guide. 
Bearing the burden of safety's price; 

At the bidding of him, the engine's chief, 
Lever and shaft, like the conjurer's dice. 

Rise and fall, as his words entice. 

Met are the two, the wave and the man, 
Measureless waste of waters out-rolled, 

Measureless daring of dauntless soul, 

Spirit grown prescient, heart kindly bold, 

Through service like thine meet the new world 
and old. 



3tt 2Iotua Sauii 



(!ll|f iFlgtng-iFtBli. 

We saw it flash from the water 
Above the Pacific's blue, 

Something of white and of silver 

That tremblingly poised and flew. 

Was it a morning sunbeam, 

Caught in the ocean spray? 

Was it a fair land-pigeon 

Strayed from its home away? 

Was it a cloud-curl descending 
To play in that other sky? 

Was it a white-cap stranded. 
Rocking too daringly high? 

Not any of these, but fairer, 
Life with an instinct fine. 

Shunning a conflict in darkness, 
And mounting above the brine. 

Feeling its wings, God-given, 

Trusting them, filmy and frail. 

Rising to elements higher. 

Baffling, thus, foes that assail. 

So the message came that morning. 
True note for an ocean creed. 

Strive not, but wing thee higher 

For wings are awaiting thy need. 



3f« fCntuH Slanh 



i 



51^9? ttb of tljf 3Flgtn9-3Ftfilj. 

A soul had passed from its earth life, 
And before Lord Buddha stood, 

Calmly awaiting sentence. 
As only a pure soul could. 

This, as men saw who loved him, 
His neighbors and kindred near, 

But the eyes of the Master see clearer, 
And fairer the dream of the seer. 

For by the law of Buddha, 

Each soul must be born again. 

Mounting through lowly creatures 
Again to the life of men. 

So elements blend universal 

And nature cycles in soul. 
And the tides and birds and fishes 

Join in a kindly whole. 

And Buddha spake to the spirit — 
Full well his goodness he knew — 

The ocean's freedom and rhythm 
And infinite power are for you. 

A fish, you shall dart in the water, 

Yet neither shall strive nor fall prey. 

White wings shall be yours— behold them. 
To bear you above the spray. 

A silence and flash of silver, 

Men saw a fairy fish; 
But^Lord Buddha saw a spirit 

Fulfilling its Maker's wish. 



JO 3ln iCiituB SanJJ 



An Wtmn li^bny. 

On, on we sailed, from gray to noon, 

Through bright blue days and veils of rain, 
And nights deep-flooded by the moon, 
On darkness blossoming in stars; 
Ever a trail of billowing smoke 

Told of our chimney's fiery pulse, 
Ever our mast-head's bright light spoke. 

Of the faithful watch that was kept for us, 
We feel the swell, the rhythm, the breeze, 

The water's swirl and purr and lap, 
We glide into our sleep with these. 

And wake to feel their spell anew; 
A sea-dream folds us, and we grow 

Impersonal and timeless as we float. 
The sky above, the sea below. 

And sit between two blue infinities. 
And thought to primal oceans roams. 
Throbbing with protoplasmic life. 
And sea-beds waiting to be homes. 

For human life's late pain and joy; 
We muse of Venus, ocean-born. 

And wonder how much strength and grace, 
And all the loves that life adorn. 

Are our old sea-born heritage; 
The sea-clasped earth becomes one family, 

Shore beckons shore, and timid man 
The ocean tempts forth coaxingly. 

With charm and wiles all-powerful; 
He goes, he struggles, gains the helm, 
A health to all mankind he drinks 
And learns the truth of brotherhood. 



3tt Hot us Hand 



A lay ICaat At ^^a. 

Lost on the wide Pacific, 

In the very midst of our way, 

A day of life's golden gladness, 
One whole fair ocean-day. 

'Twas an offering made to Neptune, 
That our voyage might be fair, 

He claimed our sweetest possession, 
And holds it in his care. 

He came in the night as we slumbered. 

And took the sacrifice, 
And we only knew it at morning 

When we saw the new sun-rise. 

We guessed by the sea's gray twinkle 
Some secret there was to tell. 

And learned we had slept enchanted,. 
Under Lord Neptune's spell. 

But our day he holds but in hostage, 

A pledge for duties done. 
He will give it back to our keeping, 

When we make our homeward run. 



IZ 3ln ICotua ICanlJ 



3f«|t f ama. 

Fuji Yama, up in cloudland, 

White with centuries of snow, 

Shut off from all human presence, 
Trails a robe of blue below. 

Purple, violet, amethyst, 

Melting down to earthly level. 

Till by sunrise she is kissed. 

Heart of slumbering fire within her, 

Hushed and healed by snowy drifts, 
In serenity of conquest. 

To the sun her brow she lifts 
Pink and pearl and gold and amber. 

Float the clouds about her knees, 
Lo, the sun-touch! Bathed in glory, 

Fuji waits her devotees. 

White-robed pilgrims, sandal-shod, 
Up the mountain pathway climb. 

Stopping at each votive chapel. 
Hero's tomb of ancient time, 

Buddha's shrine or Shinto temple; 

Each seeks peace through penance done, 

And with hymns they greet the sun. 

Homeward turn the raptured pilgrims, 

Burdens lifted, hearts heaven-turned, 
They have been in sacred presence, 

Fuji Yama's meaning learned. 
Felt her love for Nippon's children, 

Felt the charm of purity. 
While below, in waves reflected, 

Fuji smiles out of the sea. 



Kit ICot«0 Hattb 13 



(Btmt lubbl|a. 

Pilgrims we were to a hill-set shrine, 

In the dewy cool of a morning-, 
We had heard of the wonderful Buddha of bronze, 

We would have his counsel and warning; 
Seated we found him, in centuried calm; 

Though his sacred temple had vanished, 
Earthquake and storm and tidal wave, 

Had never the Master banished. 

Under the shade of giant pines. 

And the cryptomeria's grace, 
Lighted by cherry and plum-tree blooms. 

We climbed to that holy place; 
Here v/as embodied a nation's thought. 

Passion controlled and subjected. 
Faith in the Infinite Spirit of All, 

Rapture of knov/ledge perfected. 

Sympathy one with man and brute. 

Peace born of self-abnegation, 
Calm meditation, unceasing content. 

Sprung from sublime contemplation; 
Pathos and sweetness of eastern lives. 

Gospel of patience unending. 
Is the new wholly new or the west alone true, 

Or is truth the flower of their blending? 

The new but fulfils; it does not destroy. 

Sunlight it pours on the sage's dreaming. 
Still in life's stress, we recognize 

The Buddha's law that all is but seeming, 
We would share and not give. 

We would learn, as we tarry. 
And back to the shores of the v/estern world 

An eastern message from Buddha carry. 



14 Stt IGntuB ICanh 



Even in Lotus-land, lapped by the sea, 
Comes there a spring burst of blossom and song. 
The fire-tree glows red, like a torch-lighted tree, 
And Madre Cacao goes creeping along. 
Pink as the peach-blooms in orchards a- west; 
And the mynah-bird flies on swifter wing, 
To a garden green where her mate and nest 
Wait for the joy her coming will bring. 

In the old walled street, green-rimmed with moss. 
In the early hush of the Sabbath day. 
White-kerchiefed children carry the cross, 
In the dusk and cool of the shadows gray; 
To the risen Christ they sing a hymn. 
And the Padre's voice swells the children's song, 
As they turn their steps to the portals dim. 
Where the saints guard the steps of the 
entering throng. 

Within the cathedral the kneelers all 

Adore Maria and San Jose, 

And the Padre climbs to his pulpit tall. 

His Easter message of hope to say; 

There is joy in his voice and a thrill in his words, 

For his land is free and in touch with mankind; 

Justice, her armor invincible girds. 

And life's worth the living in spite of its grind. 

And the stranger straying amid the throng. 
Feels that Easter has followed him over the wave, 
He blesses the chant, the prayer, the song. 
And the better future which human hearts crave. 
All lands yearn heavenward, the sea but unites, 
Shore beckons shore and waves yield to men, 
Time only strengthens man's claim to his rights. 
Life's worth the living, again and again. 



3n2jot«»2jaitb 15 



E\^t ^OBpxtnL 

We had not come to stay, 

Slight need of the hospital, we! 

But when we entered, you see. 

We found that the Lotus held sway. 

To Lotus-Land we had sailed, 

Its spell was upon our life, 
All yield in the Lotus-strife, 

Our feeble resistance failed. 

And the Lotus-Elves each day. 

Smiled at our vain unrest. 
Vanished and came, nor guessed 

They had stolen our hearts away. 

Nurses we heard them called. 

I am sure they were Lotus-Elves 
Who had tasted the Lotus' sweet themselves, 

And so our spirit enthralled. 



IB 2ltt IC0t«a munh 



Underneath that nipa roof 

Runs a fairy loom, 
Shining threads for warp and woof 

Fill the lowly room. 

'Tis the hemp-tree gives the thread, 
Strands of silk and gloss, 

Backward, forward, shuttle-fed, 
Speeds the shining floss. 

Clouds of rose or sunset's gold, 
Violet, amethyst and green, 

Pearly whiteness fold on fold. 
Glides along in silver sheen. 

Here is jusi, striped and barred. 
Flowered, dotted, plain. 

By the piece or by the yard; 
'Twill not long remain. 

Thus my senorita sings; 

Her work she does not cease, 
But over me a charm she flings, 

I straightway buy a piece. 



3J n ?lj n t It s ^nnh 17 



all|p lanana ^£mt 

Of all the green leaves that before me unroll, 
I love best to watch the banana's scroll, 
A virginal leaf —the topmost of all. 
Loosening its coil to the sun's coaxing call. 

Transparently green, untorn by the wind. 

Pure as a life that never has sinned. 

Fed by gold streamlets crossing the gi^een, 

To an edge that was cut by some sculptor unseen. 

What secrets dost write in that close-wrought 

scroll. 
Emerald leaf, as you slowly unroll? 
Are you counting bananas still in bud. 
Or strengthening fiber 'gainst wind and flood? 

Or are you teaching the bee to find 

The honey with which your red flower-sheath is 

lined. 
That he may help ripen, all he can, 
Gloria golden and sweet lacatan? 

Whatever it is you so tightly hold, 

I'm resolved to read when you're all unrolled, 

Under your unfurled banner I'll stand, 

And then you will make me understand. 



Ig 3lu SiOtuB ICaniJi 



Once the cocoa palm-tree 

Slept within a shell, 
Brown and rough the cradle, 

But the palm slept well. 
Finally it wakened, 

Found a little door, 
Saw a new world waiting, 

Never dreamed before. 
Out and up it clambered. 

Pushing great green plumes; 
These were meant to shelter 

Suites of airy rooms. 
There in leafy coolness 

Close to Mother Palm 
Nestle her own children. 

Safe in wind and calm. 
With rich milk she feeds them. 

Rocks and tends them well, 
Sings and watches ever. 

While with her they dwell. 

Secrets deep she teaches. 

All the palm-tree lore. 
How they may be servants. 

To man forever more. 
For houses, ships and garments, 

On you he will rely. 
And you with dainty fibers. 

These needs will satisfy. 
For cups and jars and ladles 

And food and wine he'll look, 
And you v/ill give him paper. 

On which to write his book. 
Go now, my cocoa-children, 

A life of service lead, 
In loving, generous giving, 

Supply man's daily need. 



3i « Cn t M s C a u h 



13 



S^Ub on a Srp?. 

Up in the big macupa tree 

White-tasseled flowers wave, 
They are making a wonderful fairy fruit, 

Which the queen of fairies might crave. 

'Tis nothing less than rosy bells, 
0, the softest, daintiest rose, 

Folding its rims in dimpling curves, 
Which a heart of snow enclose. 

And a clapper hangs to tell the hour 
When the rosy bells may ring, 

The children and I can hardly wait, 

For the music their ripeness will bring. 

"Come, taste my spice, you'll find it nice," 
The pink chimes seem to say, 

"Come taste my spice," the bells entice, 
As they swing in the tree all day. 



20 3fu 2jr»tU8 ICnn& 



®1)^ ilangn Em. 

0, the mango tree weaves a tent of shade, 
That is good in the tropical noon, 

Its giant trunk and gnarled old roots, 
Fight with the fierce typhoon. 

A mighty arm it loves to send, 

Straight out, horizontally, 
Low over Mother Earth to bend, 

Before climbing up to the sky. 

Its fruit has curves that are all its own ; 

0, the mango curve who shall describe? 
And the juicy lusciousness thick round the 
stone, 

Is a gift of heaven to men. 

Tiny gold flowers cradle this fruit; 

They're in league with the sun's own 
gold, 
And that is the way such little flowers 

Into matchless fruits unfold. 



Mn^atns^^nh Zl 



From her nipa bahay 

Comes my senorita, 
Down the bamboo ladder, 

Queenly Marg-arita. 
Saya trail she carries, 

Starched and gay and flov/ing, 
Underneath its edges, 

Sandals brown are showing. 
To tell of her camisa 

I despair of trying, 
Sleeves so fine and filmy, 

Two butterflies a-flying. 
There are senorita 's 

Great anxiety, 
She must keep them upright, 

'Tis propriety. 
Books has senorita, 

(But she sighs for others,) 
She's going to the high-school, 

With her older brothers. 
She opens her panuelo. 

My generous senorita, 
And forth come luscious chicos, 

And fragrant sampaguita. 

These are for the maestra, 

She loves my senorita, 
And calls my orient schoolgirl. 

Her dear, black-eyed chiquita. 
She's going to be a teacher. 

My faithful senorita, 
And perhaps across the ocean, 

Will go my Margarita. 
And Paula and Juanita, 

Pilar and Agapita, 
A band of earnest students, 

Will join my senorita. 



Z2 inSIntitHlGauJJ 



®f|p f lang-f lang. 



Green stars up in a tall tree burn, 
Where the bamboo ladder waits 

From green to gold the flowers turn, 
While the master their value rates. 

And brown boys come their baskets to fill 

To coin the flowers to gold. 
In the coil of the chemist's crucial still, 

Their essence they will unfold. 

Subtly refreshing— a garden dream, 

'Twill travel over the sea. 
And when you breathe lang-lang you will 
seem 

In the Orient to be. 



^•ofC. 



iu UlntuB Uauli 



A irmm of MUbhiB. 

When you long for willows. 

Growing in a clump, 
Bending just as willows bend, 

Slender-leaved and slender-stemmed, 
Springing from a stump, 

Mingling gold with palegreen tints. 
Umber shades and amber glints, 

Look upon the bamboo tree. 
You will fancy that you see 

Willows from across the deep; 
And a dream of home will fly, 

Straightway to your wakeful eye. 
When you try to go to sleep, 

Tossing on your pillows. 



24 3ln2l0tualCanJi 



Slender, clustered, airy shafts, 
Green as precious malachite. 

Carved by cunning handicrafts, 
Rise the bamboos to the light. 

Jointwise from a tangled base, 

Relic of its reedy birth, 
Climbs the reed-tree up to space. 

Stands among the trees of earth. 

Guards itself with thick set thorns. 
While it shapes a thousand gifts, 

Serves and comforts and adorns. 
And a cooling shade uplifts. 



^n i£atnB ^unh Z5 



iJlt^mh at tl}t lambnn. 

A slender reed in the jungle grew, 

Ages ago, when the world was new, 
Straight rose its shining green from the slime 

And 'twas built in steps as if meant to 
climb. 
The reed looked out to the mangrove trees 

And the cocoapalms which waved in the 
breeze. 
Up to the cloud-drift's sunny sheen, 

Down to its jointed stem of green. 

Here is a ladder. Can I not climb? 

Can I not grow to a tree sometime ? 
It followed the impulse and used the means; 

Higher it rose, to wider scenes, 
Over the homes of men it towered. 

Folded them, sheltered and embowered; 
For the generous sun wove a net of leaves 

And a thicket of golden boughs with 
these. 

Gifts were they to the reed-born tree 

That set itself from the jungle free. 

Men gave to the tree the name bamboo. 

But still to its humble marsh birth true, 

It ever wears the same green clothes. 

And shows the ladder by which it rose. 

Thus, as the eastern legends tell, 

*Cawayan came with men to dwell. 

(*Note: Cawayan is the Tagalogr for bamboo.) 



2fi 3(«IInt«HlCanii 



Once on parched India's plain, 

Came famine with all its pain, 
No rice was reaped in the harvest-field, 

No water the springs could yield, 
And the people in despair, 

Called to Lord Buddha in prayer, 
While priests in procession long. 

Chanted their sacred song. 

When lo! surpassing belief, 

A marvel of swift relief! 
What happens at intervals rare 

Came now in the hour of prayer. 
The bamboo bloomed and bore fruit 

At the top of each jointed shoot. 
And every man ate bamboo rice 

Brought to his door without price. 



3JnlCotu02Ian^ Z7 



Under a spreading tamarind tree 

Tlie village maestra sits. 
The tree is green and fair to see 

And a tent of shade it knits. 
And the pleasant juice of its sour fruit 
The need of the noonday fits. 

Week in, week out, a stately dome, 
The tamarind tree stands guard, 

Above the little nipa home. 

Though storms blow long and hard 

You can watch it close its leaves at night, 
When the dark creeps o'er the yard. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door, 
They see the bench and rattan stool. 

The slat-made bamboo floor, 
They see the Americano flag 

And photographs galore. 



aa SitIIotua2janl» 



Have you walked in Cavite by moonlight, 
Under the Southern Cross, 
In that old, old town, 
On the low sea-wall, 
While the long waves call, 
And the big boats toss. 
And a trail of sea-fire glows softly white, 
'Neath the stroke of oarsmen brown? 

Have the shattered stones of the rampart 
Told you the tale of war. 
When the cannon boomed. 
And the arsenal's clang. 
Loud through the navy-yard rang. 
While the people fled, nor asked what for, 
Not knov/ing the hope cherished long in their 
heart. 
In that very hour had bloomed? 

And then have you v/alked her streets, by day, 
Under the almond trees. 
Where a free flag waves. 

And free men walk. 
And the schoolboys of liberty talk? 
Ah, the best of all that one ever sees 
Is the dream come at last to stay. 
The hope which destiny saves. 



inSl0tit0SIan5 Z5 



Trailing-footed, patient friend, 

Jest of foreigner, 
Well we know that we depend, 

On your steady plodding. 

Through the mud you drag the plow, 

In the big rice paddy, 
Deei)-eyed, bow-horned carabao, 

Till your gray coat's muddy. 

When the stranger wonders how 
To transfer his baggage, 

Comes the ready carabao 
With a carretela. 

When your daily labors close. 

At the Angelus, 
I shall see your round, black nose, 

Just above the water. . 

Carabao, I have been told. 

Sometimes you grow frantic, 

If you have not duly rolled 
In some loved estero. 

Are you, carabao, a type. 
Of these Malay islands, 

Biding long the hour that's ripe. 
To throw off your burden? 

Sore-tried, patient, orient friend, 

Better days await you, 
Your worthy cause men will defend. 

Till roads and masters suit you. 



30 3tt ICotits ICauJi 



(Fij0 iF^sial Bprmh. 



The table-cloth of linen, 

From Yokohama came, 
And o'er its maze of beauty, 

Anon they would exclaim. 
Wisterias graced its center 

And all around the edge 
Hem-stitch and wondrous drawn- work, 

Enclosed them in a hedge. 

The plates were thinnest china. 

With tall bamboos and cranes. 
With Fuji on the border. 

All wrought with careful pains. 
Their napkins were crepe paper. 

Each spoon a story had. 
But 'twas the bowl of satsuma 

That chiefly made them glad. 

The menu? Mainly dulces 

Of many curious kinds, 
Of camias and chicos. 

One in tiendas finds, 
With bland red guava jelly, 

Balubads balimbings, 
A little bread and butter. 

To eat with other things. 

Boiled water filled their glasses, 

They nibbled chocolate. 
And cast admiring glances. 

Upon their bamboo plate. 
And if for other dainties. 

These festal teachers sighed, 
The satsuma's golden splendor 

Their longings satisfied. 



3(n2j0tu0lCatth 31 



The palm and the pine-tree met 
In the land of orient isles, 

And we gathered the violet 
While tears bedimmed our smiles. 

We seemed to be home for a day, 
The East we seemed to forget, 

I'm afraid we longed to stay, 
In the beautiful hills of Benguet. 



32 SnUotuaSIanJi 



eastern isles, where sunshine smiles, 
The world is watching you. 

To see you grasp and strongly clasp 
A chance that's great and new. 

With throbbing heart she takes a part, 

In all your toil and hope, 
Your patient strife for freer Hfe, 

Along the upward slope. 

She asks to share your load of care, 

And pledges you her best, 
'Tis give and take for love's sweet sake. 

That lends to life its zest. 

Philippines, the Vision means 

To point you to your own, 
rise and claim, with heart aflame. 

The good to you made known. 



